Relapse
by paperstorm
Summary: Dean can't keep living like this, he can't keep walking this tightrope never knowing which way he's going to fall. He needs to know one way or the other. A tag for 'Scarecrow', 1x11. Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Explicit Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Scarecrow', it belongs to Eric Kripke, Patrick Smith and and John Shiban.  
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**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

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><p>Dean glances cautiously over at his brother as Sam leans heavily on the accelerator as they go up a small hill. He's driving fast, aggressively, not much different from how Dean usually does except that Sam <em>never<em> drives like this and Dean's worried. Wary, more like, because as much as Sam's sweet and quiet and gentle most of the time, he blows up the other end of the spectrum when he's angry. He's always had a bit of an explosive temper, even when he was a kid. Add that to the fact that their Dad's always been a sore spot between them, and Dean's really just counting the minutes until Sam snaps and they end up screaming at each other. Hell, he's surprised they've gotten this far.

"Alright, so the names Dad gave us, they're all couples?" Sam asks.

Dean nods. "Three different couples, all went missing."

"And they're all from different towns? Different states?"

"That's right, yeah." Dean rechecks the map and his list. "Washington, New York, Colorado. Each couple took a road trip, cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination, none of them were ever heard from again."

Sam shrugs a little. "Well it's a big country, Dean, they could've disappeared anywhere."

"Yeah, could've. But each one's route took them through same part of Indiana, always on second week of April, one year after another after another."

"This is the second week of April," Sam points out.

"Yep."

"So Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?" Sam asks skeptically.

"Yatzee," Dean deadpans. "Can you imagine puttin' together a pattern like this? All the different obits dad had to go through? The man's a master."

Sam heaves a heavy sigh and Dean looks up in surprise when he feels the car slowing and drifting to the right. Sam pulls over to the gravel shoulder with an exhausted, put-out look on his face.

"What're you doing?" Dean asks, glancing around.

"We're not going to Indiana."

Dean frowns. "We're not?"

"No. We're going to California. Dad called from a payphone, Sacramento area code."

Dean sighs exasperatedly. "Sam."

"Dean if this demon killed Mom and Jess and Dad's closing in, we gotta be there! We gotta help!" Sam cries.

"Dad doesn't want our help."

"Well I don't care!"

"He's given us an order!" Dean insists.

"I. Don't. Care!" Sam repeats emphatically. "We don't always have to do what he says!"

"Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives! It's important," Dean grinds out. He's tired, they barely got a full night's sleep after that gong-show of a job in Roosevelt, and now they're hitting the ground running on another hunt less than six hours later and Dean really, _really _isn't in the mood to deal with Sam and his childish rebellious streak right now.

"Alright I understand, believe me I understand, but I'm talking one week, here, man! To get answers, to get revenge!"

"Alright, look, I know how you feel –" Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.

"Do you?" he laughs cruelly. "How old were you when Mom died, four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?"

"Dad said it wasn't safe, for any of us," Dean says firmly. "I mean he obviously knows something that we don't, so if he says to stay away, we stay away!"

"I don't understand the blind faith you have in the man!" Sam shakes his head and huffs a little in irritation. I mean, it's like you don't even question him!"

"Yeah, it's called being a good son!" Dean fires back, and Sam's eyes darken and his expression clouds over, and instantly Dean knows it was the wrong thing to say but he's so past the point of caring it's not even funny.

Sam glares at him and then gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him and then walking around and popping the trunk.

Dean rolls his eyes and follows him. "You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want, don't care what anybody thinks."

"That's what you really think?" Sam asks, his jaw clenched like it's a challenge.

"Yes it is."

"Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California." Sam practically turns on his heel and stomps away like a little kid throwing a fit.

"Come on, you're not serious," Dean calls after him.

"I am serious," Sam answers without turning around.

"It's the middle of the night!" Dean shouts. "Hey, I'm takin' off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?"

Sam pauses, and then he turns to face Dean and smiles condescendingly. "That's what I want you to do."

Dean stares after him for a long moment, trying to gauge whether or not Sam really means it; if he's actually _leaving_. Dean really didn't think he would, he really believed he could make Sam happy enough to stick around this time. Sure, they bicker and they get in each other's space and they piss each other off, but even through all that, Dean _likes_ being with his brother and he'd thought Sam felt the same way. Apparently he was wrong.

"Goodbye, Sam," he says, shooting daggers at his brother with his eyes, partly because he's furious and partly to hide the fact that what he's really feeling is betrayed, and then he gets back into the Impala and takes off, leaving Sam on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Watching Sam's form get smaller in the rearview mirror hurts more than Dean thought it would, so he turns up the radio and floors it. There is nothing in the world so bad Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield can't fix it. And hey, maybe if he repeats that to himself enough times, eventually he'll believe it.

"So, can I drop you off somewhere?" Dean asks, dreading the answer.

Sam smiles. "No, I think you're stuck with me."

"What made you change your mind?"

Sam takes a deep breath before he answers. "I didn't. I still wanna find Dad, and you're still a pain in the ass, but … Jess and Mom, they're both gone. Dad is god knows where, you and me, we're all that's left. So, uh, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together."

"Hold me, Sam," Dean smirks, patting him on the shoulder. "That was beautiful."

"You should be kissing my ass!" Sam laughs. "You were dead meat, dude!"

"Yeah, right. I had a plan, I'd'a gotten out."

"Right," Sam mutters, and Dean smiles again and gets into the Impala.

"So, listen," Sam starts quietly. "I … I'm sorry I left."

Dean looks up from the phonebook he'd been leafing through – trying to find a pizza place nearby that delivers – and watches as Sam sits down on the bed across from him. He looks worried and sad and Dean has the sudden urge to pull Sam into his arms, but he doesn't. He sets the phonebook down on the table and shrugs a little.

"It's okay," he says. "Like I said before, you gotta live your own life. You wanted to go to college, it's not a crime."

Sam looks confused for a second and then he shakes his head. "No, I meant, yesterday. Or, two days ago I guess, whenever it was."

"Oh." Dean's not sure what to say to that so he doesn't say anything.

"And I'm sorry about the things I said," Sam continues heavily, staring down at where his hands are folded in his lap. "I should've … alright, look. It pisses me off when you just do what Dad tells you to without even thinking about it, but not for the reason you think, okay? It's not like I'm some jerk who thinks it's fun to ignore Dad's orders. I just …" He pauses for a moment, and then he looks up at Dean, blue-green eyes shining from under a deep frown. "You're a good hunter, Dean, you're just as good as he is, you don't need him to be your drill-sergeant like you did when you were a kid. And you deserve to have a say in your own life, you know? You shouldn't _have_ to follow his orders, you should get to think for yourself. You deserve to be more than what he wants you to be."

Again, Dean has no idea what to say. He's kind of floored; that was really the last thing he ever expected Sam to say. He just blinks stupidly and waits for Sam to keep talking.

"But it's your life," Sam concedes after a minute of tension-thick silence. "I can't rag on Dad for always telling you what to do and then do the same thing. And anyway, I shouldn't have gotten in your face about it. I was mad at him, not you. So, I'm sorry."

"Okay," Dean says softly, his voice coming weaker and breathier than he'd meant it to.

"Are we good?" Sam asks tentatively, and Dean nods.

"'Course we are," he answers quickly. He's not entirely sure he believes it, but he feels like Sam needs reassurance right now.

Sam nods back slowly like he maybe almost buys it, but then his face sort of falls again and he slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head forward so his bangs fall over his eyes. "We're not, are we? Everything's still messed up, Dean, I … shit. I'm sorry, I fucked it all up."

Dean frowns; he's completely confused again but he gets up from the table and moves over to sit beside Sam on auto-pilot. He doesn't even think about it, his legs take the decision away from him and carry him to his brother before his brain has the chance to tell them not to. He's even got a hand wrapped around the back of Sam's neck before he realizes he put it there.

"What're you talking about?"

"Everything I said to you at that asylum, god, the look on your face, it was – and I should never have kissed you before and just thrown myself at you like that, I don't know why I did that, I've been kicking myself about it ever since it happened," Sam rambles, all in one breath.

"Wait, Sam," Dean begins, but Sam keeps talking over him.

"I'm so sorry, we were just starting to be _good_ again and I screwed it up, I was just sad or something and you were there but I took advantage of you, I know you don't feel that way about me anymore and I just pounced on you and that was really unfair, and – "

"Whoa, hey! Just, stop for a second!" Dean cries desperately, needing a second to get his head wrapped around everything Sam just dumped on him. "You – okay, hold on. You think I don't feel that way about you anymore?"

"Of course you don't," Sam says sadly. "That's why everything's been so weird between us since then, right? God, if you could've seen the way you looked at me, it was like … I don't even know."

Dean's head is spinning and his heart is beating so fast it's almost painful against his ribcage. He feels like he's still at least three steps behind where ever Sam is right now, and he's trying so hard to catch up but Sam's going too fast and he can't. Which is not at all helped by the fact that being this close to Sam is making his brain run sluggishly and his vision blur out a little around the edges. He can't think, he can't concentrate on anything but he needs to, he needs to know what Sam's talking about, what Sam meant by all that because if he meant what it _sounds_ like he did … Dean can't even allow himself to hope like that. It'll only make it hurt worse in the end if this all goes to hell like it always seems to between them.

He blinks a few times and shakes his head a little to clear it. When he speaks, he keeps it as slow and cautious as he can – walking on eggshells would be a party compared to this. "Do … do _you_ still feel that way? About me?"

Sam huffs and glares at him for a moment, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Don't do that," he whispers brokenly. "You know the answer, don't make this harder than it already is."

"No, I need you to say it," Dean insists. "I _don't_ know the answer, that's the problem. We keep doing this, Sam, we keep _almost_ talking about this but then one of us shuts down or runs away and we end up misunderstanding each other. I can't … whatever the answer is, I'm not gonna be mad at you or anything, okay, I promise. I just … I don't wanna assume anything, you know? I need you to say it."

There's so much suffering in Sam's eyes that Dean almost backs down, almost just says forget it and pulls Sam into his arms and tells him he doesn't have to say anything. But he can't keep living like this, he can't keep walking this tightrope never knowing which way he's going to fall. He needs to know one way or the other.

Sam closes his eyes briefly, and one tear slips free and trails down his cheek. "Yeah," he mumbles. "I do. I always have, I … I tried to make it go away. I tried to be normal, I tried to be happy with Jess, but I wasn't. I should've been, I mean, I had everything, y'know? Everything I thought I wanted, I had friends and I was gonna be a lawyer and I had a beautiful girlfriend who loved me and wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. Anyone else would've been over the moon to have my life, and all I could ever think about was you."

Dean's stunned into silence again – his ears heard what Sam said but it's like his brain doesn't know what to do with it. Logically, this should be a good thing. He's practically head-over-heels for Sam, has been for almost a decade, so it should be good news to find out Sam feels the same way. So then why can't Dean breathe?

"I'm sorry," Sam whispers again, his voice catching with the emotion he's obviously trying so hard to hold back. "I know this probably makes everything worse, but it's … being with you, it's the only thing I've ever really wanted."

"I know," Dean whispers back, swallowing thickly over a lump in his throat and rashly deciding to just dive right into the deep end before he chickens out. "Me too."

"I couldn't – wait, what?" Sam says abruptly, looking up at Dean and finally meeting his eyes for the first time. "You … you do?"

"Yeah." Dean nods. There are a million other things he'd like to say but he can't get the words out, so he just smiles shakily and hopes Sam gets it.

Sam eyes him warily, like he's waiting for Dean to jump up and yell 'April Fools!'. "You're not … this isn't a joke, right? Cause if it is, it's really, really not funny."

"Definitely not a joke."

"Really?" Sam asks hesitantly, a tiny little glimmer of hope in his eyes shining through the lingering sadness. "All this time?"

"Yep." Dean smiles and reaches out, gently brushing the pad of his thumb over the moisture just under Sam's left eye. His heart's going so fast it feels like it's about to explode, and his guts are all twisted up in nerves and apprehension and uncertainty, but the one thing Dean knows for sure is that there's another feeling mixed in with all the others, one he hasn't let himself feel properly in years – _want_. He wants Sam more that he's ever wanted anything, Dean's finally sure of it.

Sam leans into Dean's hand and laughs shakily. "Man, so we both … we're idiots."

Dean laughs back, leaning forward a little and letting his forehead rest against Sam's. "Complete morons," he agrees.

"I can't even … shit, I ... what are we gonna – "

"Sam?" Dean interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Surprisingly, and maybe for the first time ever, Sam actually listens, and Dean surges forward and kisses him. It's bruising and passionate right away even though it's been a lifetime since they've done this, and Dean melts into it. It's everything, everything he's ever wanted and everything he's been too afraid to ask for and everything he thought he'd never have again, all packed like a punch into one brush of lips and Dean could almost cry with how happy it makes him. Sam's lips are soft and warm and his mouth is just as sweet as Dean remembers when he dips his tongue into it. It's like a dream, like it's not really happening, but Dean doesn't care even for a second. If he wakes up tomorrow and finds out none of this was real, at least he'll have had it for a moment. A single minute with Sam is better than a lifetime with anyone else.

"Dean," Sam slurs into his lips, abandoning whatever he was about to say in favor of drawing Dean's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it.

Dean shudders a little at the sensation. His hands are still cupping Sam's face and he slides them down slowly over Sam's shoulders and down his arms, his fingers tracing the bulges of muscle in Sam's arms that definitely weren't there the last time they did this all those years ago. It's ridiculous how much that turns him on; the fact that Sammy's not a kid anymore, that he's all grown up and gorgeous and perfect, that he could probably have anyone on the planet he wanted but he wants Dean. He moves his hands across to Sam's chest, exploring the bumps and flat planes of it as he pushes back into Sam's mouth and rubs his tongue along Sam's in slow, sensual sweeps.

"Dean," Sam says again, and he seems like he might actually be trying to tell Dean something and not just uncontrollably saying his name, so Dean somehow manages to pull back enough to see his brother's face.

Sam's pupils are so huge there's nothing but a tiny sliver of dark hazel showing around them; his cheeks are rosy and his lips are slick and kiss-swollen and he's the honest-to-god most beautiful thing Dean's ever seen.

"Yeah?" he answers breathlessly, and Sam doesn't respond right away. He reaches his hand up slowly, running the pad of his thumb over Dean's bottom lip, and Dean chases it with his mouth, licking it for just a second as Sam pulls away. Sam still doesn't say anything, but a tiny frown crinkles between his eyebrows and he pulls his own bottom lip into his mouth and worries it between his teeth. "You okay?" Dean asks softly.

Sam nods slightly and then lets his hand fall down to where Dean's are resting on his thighs. He takes one of Dean's hands in his and tangles their fingers together. "This is really happening," he whispers, staring intently at their joined hands like the sight of their skin side by side will give him whatever answers he's searching for.

"I know." Dean uses his free hand to place a crooked finger under Sam's chin and tilt his head up. Dean always feels better when he can see Sam's eyes – they're so incredibly expressive and they always tell Dean everything he needs to know. They're shiny and wet again, but Sam doesn't look sad, just maybe a little unsure. "You still want it, right?" he asks, just to be sure, and Sam nods again, more confidently this time.

"Yeah, I … yeah." He manages a small smile and grips Dean's hand harder. "Just … it's a lot to take in, y'know? I didn't … I really thought we'd never do this again. Can't quite get my head around it yet."

Dean winces understandingly and brushes Sam's hair back off his forehead as tenderly as he can. "I know," he says again. "We don't have to do anything tonight, if you want. We could, I don't know, watch a movie or something? Just be together? Give this some time to sink in?"

Sam shakes his head firmly, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Dean's lips. "No way, I want this. Wanna be with you, god, so much I can barely even think straight. It just kinda feels like the first time all over again, that's all."

Dean kisses him back, gripping his hair a little harder so he can angle Sam's head the right way. "That's good, though," he points out, pulling back and smiling reassuringly. "We're starting over, right?"

"Yeah." Sam smiles back. He kisses Dean again, and then he drags his lips down Dean's jaw, sucking on the skin as he goes and Dean sighs happily.

He gives Sam's hand a brief squeeze and then he pulls his fingers out of Sam's grasp, sliding them slowly up Sam's denim-covered thighs and then letting them settle on Sam's hips. Sam shifts a little closer as he noses at the skin just under Dean's ear and then runs his tongue over it. Dean kisses Sam's neck as best he can in turn but it's not good enough, so he pulls back and captures Sam's mouth again, licking his way past Sam's candy-sweet lips and into the warm, wet cavern of his little brother's mouth. Dean could lose it from that thought alone – the words 'little brother' in his head while his tongue is in Sam's mouth. It's twisted, probably, but he likes that; likes that the lines between them have always been blurred, no clearly defined or maintained boundaries between brother and best friend and lover and _everything_.

Sam hums into the kiss, giving back as good as he gets and Dean's hot all over and hard in his jeans and so dizzy he'd probably fall over if Sam wasn't there holding him up. Sam's always had that effect on him; everyone else Dean's ever been with was like a Zippo lighter and Sam's a forest fire. He devours Dean from the inside, lighting up all his senses with a touch or sometimes with just a look, and Dean's never had a hope of escaping. He'd never want to even if he could, the slow burn is too good.

"Want you so much," Sam mumbles, his words garbled around Dean's tongue.

"Shit, me too," Dean answers, pecking a few wet kisses to Sam's slick lips and slipping his fingers up underneath Sam's t-shirt. His skin is soft and hot enough to melt butter; the heat coming off him soaks into Dean's palms and travels quickly up his arms. Dean digs his fingers in just a little to the firm muscles of Sam's lower back while they kiss until they're both breathless, and then he slides his hands around to just under Sam's bellybutton and pets along the silky, hidden skin just below the waistband.

His hand stalls on the button of Sam's jeans though; he's suddenly anxious again and unable to shake that nagging feeling that Sam still might not want this like Dean does. "Is this okay?" he asks softly, stopping his assault on Sam's lips long enough to look into his brother's eyes.

Sam looks debauched and beautifully fucked out even though they've barely done anything yet, and really that should be all the answer Dean needs, but Sam nods anyway. "Yeah."

Dean tries to work the button free of the loop, but his hand is shaking a little and he fumbles with it. He huffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes at himself – it's ridiculous; he's supposed to be the Casanova in the family and it's not like he's never done this before – but Sam just smiles and kisses Dean gently, and then he gets up and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Dean's confused for half a second, but then he gets it and he copies Sam; standing up and shucking out of his jeans. They undress in thick silence, it might be tense or it might just be apprehensive, Dean can't really tell and the pounding of his heart in his ears is making it hard to think clearly. And when Sam's down to just boxer-briefs and Dean turns around and gets a good look at him, every single blood cell flies instantly out of his brain.

Sam … Sam looks amazing. There aren't words to describe it, he's completely transformed from the last time Dean saw him like this, from an awkward, too-tall, still a bit skinny teenager into the bulging, rippling, glistening Greek God that's standing here now looking like an orgasm personified. His muscles are perfect, the stupid kid must've been pumping iron like crazy while he was in Palo Alto, all covered in miles of caramel skin so tantalizing Dean wants nothing more than to lick every inch. He can't get his head around it anywhere near quickly enough to say anything intelligent about it, so he just leers at him and hopes he doesn't look _too_ completely idiotic.

When he manages to tear his eyes away from the giant feast of sexy in front on him, Sam's got a funny, half-confused-half-stunned expression on his face and he's gaping at Dean the way Dean's gaping at him.

He shuffles his feet a little and runs his fingers through his hair like he's uncomfortable. "You've, uh, you look … good. Really good. You got … bigger."

Dean almost chokes on the laugh that forces its way out of his windpipe and shakes his head in complete disbelief. "Me? Seriously? You're standin' there lookin' all like – _that_ – and _I_ look good? Have you _seen_ you?"

Sam's cheeks explode in a blush and he laughs nervously and shrugs, running his hand over his hair again and all but mumbling 'aww, shucks' as he digs his toe into the dirt. It's so damn cute it's ridiculous and Dean can't handle standing so far away anymore. He steps into Sam's body and smoothes his hand slowly up Sam's stomach, his fingers bumping over the muscles and holy _shit_, if Sam was nice to look at he's about a million times nicer to touch and Dean could seriously cream himself right this second just from being in this proximity to the freakin' Adonis his dorky little brother turned into while he wasn't looking.

"Shit, Sammy. California was good to you," Dean breathes. He meant it as a compliment but he must've sounded sad about it, because Sam frowns and slides his arms around Dean's waist to pull them closer.

"Wasn't California," he says quietly. "It was you. I … I was going to school, lectures and the library and study groups, I didn't need to – I could've let myself go, but I didn't because I had your voice in my head reminding me that there could be monsters around every corner."

Something clinches tight around Dean's heart at Sam's words. When he speaks, this time he actually does sound sad. "That sucks. I'm sorry, I … I dunno. This life, man, even when you're out you're never really out, I guess. Sucks that you couldn't just be normal for a little while without all that other crap hanging over your head."

Sam nods. "I …"

"What?" Dean pushes gently.

"I worked out every day, I sparred with guys twice my size at the gym and I went to a shooting range to keep myself sharp. I even kept teaching myself Latin, I mean, who does that?" Sam looks down a little, his bangs falling into his eyes, and Dean instinctively reaches up to brush them back. "I didn't have to do all those things, but I did. I think … at the time I really thought I wanted that life, the whole college thing, but looking back now I think there was a little part of me that was always secretly hoping you'd come for me. I think that's why I kept training, I think maybe I just wanted to be ready when you did. _If_ you did."

Dean leans up and kisses the corner of Sam's mouth because suddenly he can't _not_. "I would've, you know. Eventually. Even if Dad hadn't gone missing, I don't think I could've stayed away much longer. I just … I missed you, god, so much, Sammy."

"Me too," Sam whispers, cupping Dean's hips in his big hands and squeezing so Dean can't move away. Not like he would anyway, even if he could. Dean never wants to be more than a foot away from Sam ever again.

"How did this get heavy so fast from telling each other we look hot?" he asks, smiling when Sam laughs.

"I dunno. Cause we're both messed up in the head, probably."

Dean chuckles. "Hell yeah, we are."

"In the good way, though, right?"

"In the 'I totally have a stiffy for my little brother' kind of way," Dean jokes, nudging Sam's knees with his own and walking them backwards toward the bed. "Call it what you want, I guess."

Sam laughs again, quietly and deep in his throat and the rich sound slides down Dean's spine like honey. He kisses Dean again, and Dean lets him suck on his tongue for just a minute before he pushes Sam down onto the bed and swoops down after him. Sam does the awkward shuffle to get his head up near the pillows and Dean follows him on his hands and knees, lowering himself down once Sam gets situated and finally letting their hips lie flush together for the first time. He moans at the feeling of Sam hard and hot against him, dropping his forehead to rest against Sam's as Sam echoes the wanton sound.

"Shit," Sam mutters breathlessly, rolling his hips up into Dean's and creating amazing friction that has Dean groaning again.

For another few minutes, Dean just grinds slowly into Sam's hard body and they trade warm, unhurried kisses. It's heaven; as much as Dean can't wait to really get things going, part of him wishes he could just do this forever. Sam feels so _good_ underneath him, the way he moves is intoxicating; his fingers digging into Dean's back and his flavor on Dean's tongue, making these beautiful, broken little noises whenever Dean rocks his hips just so. But then Sam huffs impatiently and tries to roll them over, and even though Dean doesn't let him, he gets the message.

"What d'you want?" he asks, pushing back up onto his elbows so he can see Sam's face.

Sam's forehead is dappled in sweat and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are so dark Dean can see himself clearly in them.

"You," Sam whispers. "Want you to …"

He trails off but Dean knows what he means. He does a little happy dance in his head, he'd been hoping Sam would say that, but there's a tiny glimmer of hesitation shining through the want that hits him like a bullet-train.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Sam smiles, cupping Dean's cheek in his hand and brushing his thumb in an arc over the bone.

If Dean's dick could talk it would be screaming at him for even giving Sam the opportunity to say no, but this isn't some nameless, faceless chick he's bending over beside a dumpster in the alley behind a bar, this is _Sam_. Dean cares about him more than anything in the world; he might even love him, if he were so inclined to let himself be that sappy. Sam's perfect, he's everything.

Dean turns into the hand Sam's still got on his face and kisses his palm. There's one more question burning in the back of his mind, and Dean really hates to ask because he actually might die if the answer's yes, but either way he has to know. "You, um, were you ever with anyone else besides Jess? Like, a guy, I mean?"

Sam's forehead immediately twists into a frown and he pulls Dean's head down for another kiss. "No. No way, I couldn't, ever. It's always been you, Dean."

Relief washes over Dean in a cool wave, and he spends another minute lost in Sam's mouth before he reluctantly moves away and gets up off the bed. "You're gonna laugh at me," he says awkwardly, grabbing his duffle bag and fishing around in it until he finds the small plastic bottle that's been there for months now, and holds it up. "But I've got … well."

Sam sees what's in Dean's hand and pushes up onto his elbows to get a better look. "Um, okay. Why?"

Dean shrugs. "I – wishful thinking? I guess?"

Sam just raises and eyebrow and Dean blushes and scratches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "I got it a long time ago, when we first started hunting together again. I don't even know why, it was stupid. I mean your girlfriend had _just_ … it's not like you were gonna jump right back into bed with me. I realized it was dumb the second I got back in the car, but I dunno, I just never threw it out."

He's babbling and he knows it, but Sam just smiles and shakes his head fondly and nods for Dean to come back to bed, so Dean does. He takes his time, getting a good look at Sam all spread out and flushed and hard and gorgeous; his tanned skin glistening with a little sheen of sweat and his hair all messed up. He's beautiful, debauched and disheveled and imperfect perfection. And he belongs to Dean again, and Dean wants to spend the rest of his life exploring him, relearning him, loving him until they can't breathe. Then he crawls back up Sam's body, nipping and licking along Sam's chest as he goes. When he gets high enough, Sam balances on one elbow and uses the other hand to pull Dean's face close enough to brush their lips together.

"That first night, when you broke into my apartment and I jumped you? Once I realized it was you, and you were there on top of me, I was about half a second away from grabbing you and kissing you before I remembered I shouldn't," Sam whispers, his lips catching and dragging against Dean's and sending a fantastic shiver down Dean's spine.

"You – really?" Dean asks, searching Sam's eyes and finding the truth shining in them, and maybe something else too – something amazing Dean doesn't want to put a label on for fear of losing it.

Sam nods. "That whole hunt, too, it was like we were strangers but at the same time we were just as close as always, like we hadn't spent more than a day or two apart. It was really hard to keep my hands off you even though I knew I had to."

Dean shakes his head and exhales heavily, exasperated at how stupid he's been; thinking Sam had been pulling away because he didn't want Dean anymore, thinking Sam regretted them ever being together in the first place. He drops his head down so his forehead's resting against Sam's and rolls his hips again, not so much because his body craves the friction but because his heart wants Sam to know he's never letting him go again. There are more things he could say, there's still hurt feelings and pain and mistakes and years between them, but Dean's more than willing to let it all go this minute if he means he gets Sam back.

He kisses the tip of Sam's nose and then he ducks his head down to lick along the column of Sam's throat, grinding down into his brother and relishing in the breathy noises Sam makes. He drags his tongue along Sam's collarbone, he sucks on the sinewy muscle where Sam's neck meets his shoulder, and then he sinks his teeth into the meat of it.

Sam hisses and arches up into him, dropping back down onto the mattress and laughing breathlessly. "You remembered."

Dean smiles and bites him again, a little harder this time and then soothes the sting with the flat of his tongue. "Some things you don't forget."

Sam shudders underneath him as Dean nips at him one more time, and then he trails his hand down over Sam's ribcage, fluttering his fingers across the waistband on Sam's boxers. With his chest pressed against Sam's, he can feel how fast Sam's heart is beating and he stills his movements for a minute.

"Are you nervous?" he whispers against Sam's lips.

"Yes," Sam breathes back.

"Me too, a little," Dean admits quietly. "It's okay, though. It's just me."

"I know. I think that's _why_ I'm nervous."

Dean frowns and squeezes his fingers around Sam's hip. "Why?"

Sam blinks hazily up at Dean. "Cause it's you and me. S'not just sex, y'know? It means something with you, it kinda means everything."

Dean feels it too, how important this is. His heart is racing too, and not just because he's turned on. But it's Sam, and they belong together, like this. That may be the only thing in the world Dean's absolutely sure of in that moment. He kisses Sam deeply, slipping his fingertips just under the cotton waistband and petting along the silky skin.

"I got you," he murmurs.

"I know," Sam answers. He lifts his hips up a little like he wants Dean to take his boxers off. "C'mon. Make me yours again," he urges, and then he stills and chuckles quietly. "God. Sorry, that sounded less ridiculous in my head."

Dean laughs a little too, smiling and bumping Sam's nose with his own. "It was a little Daytime Soap-ish, maybe."

He shifts to the side so he can squirm out of his own underwear, and then he pulls Sam's down slowly, kissing each inch of skin as it's revealed until he gets them low enough for Sam to kick out of them. Once he's got Sam completely naked, his stomach does a funny little flip and he groans quietly at the sight of Sam's cock, hard and flushed dark pink and dripping where it's resting against his abdomen. It's just as pretty as Dean remembers, maybe even more – absence making the heart grow fonder and all that Hallmark crap. Dean kneels between Sam's spread legs and runs the tip of his nose up the underside of Sam's cock, drawing in his strong, earthy scent and breathing hot breaths over the head that make Sam shiver.

"Also totally redundant," he says softly. "You've always been mine."

Sam gets up on his elbows so he can watch, reaching out and brushing the back of his knuckles over Dean's cheek while Dean licks at the head of his cock. Sam tastes better than Dean remembers too, sweet and salty and amazing, so maybe those people at Hallmark actually do know what they're talking about. He sucks Sam into his mouth without preamble, because his head is spinning and his heart is machine-gunning against his ribcage with how much he wants this, so if he doesn't get things going he might not make it to the end. For a minute he just lets Sam rest heavily on his tongue, breathing around him and getting used to the feeling of Sam in his mouth again after so much time. Sam hums quietly and runs his thumb along the corner of Dean's mouth, tracing the spot where they're connected. And the Dean starts moving, bobbing his head and laving his tongue over the underside of Sam's cock until Sam's quivering and falls flat onto his back again.

He pulls off with a filthy-wet pop after only a few minutes; this is just the appetizer and Dean's been hard for so long it's bordering on painful so he's eager to skip ahead to the main course. There's a beautiful blush staining Sam's cheeks a soft pink, and his massive chest is heaving and his sweaty hair is in his glazed-over eyes – he looks like sex personified and Dean has to look away for a minute and take a few deep breaths to keep himself from losing it right there on the spot.

"Dean," Sam mumbles blearily, small and quiet like a prayer, and Dean's completely helpless when Sam says his name like that.

"Right here, Sammy," he whispers, pressing a reverent kiss just about Sam's hipbone. "You, uh, you wanna turn over?"

Before, back when they used to do this regularly, they almost always did it facing each other. But it's been a long time and the last thing in the world Dean wants to do is hurt Sam.

Sam just shakes his head, though, an adorable little crease folding between his eyebrows. "Wanna see you."

"Kay," Dean breathes. He picks the bottle of lube back up, flipping the cap open and letting some of the clear, cool gel drizzle onto his fingers. He rubs it around to coat his fingers and warm it up a bit, while his heart beats so fast it's starting to make him nauseous. He was lying before; he's more than just 'a little' nervous about this. It feels so big – it feels like so much is riding on how this goes. It kind of feels like the possibility of a lifetime of happiness is what's hanging in the balance right now. If Dean does this right, he'll be getting everything he's ever wanted and probably more. And if he screws it up … he doesn't even want to think about that.

Dean doesn't notice that Sam's sitting up until his brother is right there in front of him; Dean blinks in surprise as Sam's face comes into focus suddenly. His eyebrows are stitched together and he almost looks sad, but mostly he just looks overwhelmed, like Dean is. Sam hitches his knees up and plants his feet on the mattress so his bent legs are framing Dean's body. He cups Dean's cheek in his warm palm and brushes his thumb over Dean's cheekbone before he kisses him. When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead resting against Dean's. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. He's still rubbing his thumb in a slow arc over Dean's cheek and Dean knows what he means. He knows that Sam's just as apprehensive as Dean is, he knows with just that simple touch that this means everything to Sam too.

Sam reaches his other hand down to where their cocks are lying beside each other. He scoops them both up in one of his big hands, holding them together and stroking slowly. "Look how perfect we look together," he murmurs reverently. "Like we were made to be like this."

Dean smiles. Sam's right, they do – Sam's is a little bigger but Dean's no slouch in that department, and they look really incredible side by side – but the idea in itself is halfway between filthy and ridiculously romantic and it's such a _Sam_ thing to say. It's Sam's way of reassuring Dean, telling him everything's going to be okay without actually saying it. So he follows Sam's lead; kisses him again and then he pushes him back down onto the bed. Sam lets his legs fall open to give Dean room to work, and he crowds in between them. He licks a wet strip up the underside of Sam's cock again, enjoying the faint puff of breath he hears Sam let out, and then he hesitantly slides his hand to Sam's ass, getting a finger between the cheeks and petting gently at Sam's hole. Sam sort of twitches at the first contact, gasping a little as if in surprise, and Dean frowns up at him.

Sam shakes his head. "Sorry. S'been a long time. I'm okay though, keep going."

Dean nods understandingly and kisses the tiny fluffs of hair just below Sam's bellybutton. He keeps his finger moving, not pushing in right away, just rubbing in little circles over the furl of muscle before it relaxes a bit for him. Then he slides his finger in, fluidly and all the way, because he remembers Sam always said it hurt less that way than inch by inch. Sam makes an odd, strangled sound, but a glance at his face tells Dean it was a noise of pleasure, not pain, so he pulls his finger back out and works it for a minute before he adds a second one. Sam opens up slow, not as slow as the very first time but definitely slower than the months before he left for school when they did this at least a few times a week, whenever they could steal a few moments together in the Impala or in the shower when their Dad was passed out. But Sam's moaning and arching his back beautifully; by the time Dean gets to three fingers, Sam's breathless and silently pleading for more and Dean can't wait any longer either.

He gets the bottle again, pouring lube over his over-sensitized cock and hissing at his own touch as he slicks himself up. Then he lifts Sam's legs one at a time and gets them wrapped around his waist – if Sam's gonna insist on doing this face to face, Dean can at least make it more comfortable for him. Sam digs his heels into the small of Dean's back, trying to pull him closer, and Dean smiles and obliges him. He braces his hands on either side of Sam's head, kissing him one more time as he lines himself up at Sam's entrance.

"Ready?" he asks quietly.

Sam nods, his eyes dark and shiny.

"Tell me if I'm goin' too fast, okay?" Dean says, and Sam nods again and mumbles, "C'mon, Dean."

The first push passed the still tight ring of muscle is like heaven, like coming home. Dean slams his eyes shut and holds his breath; it takes everything he has in him to keep from just slamming all the way in so he can be completely surrounded by Sam like he wants to more than anything. But he promised Sam he'd go slow, and he'd die if he knew he was hurting his precious, perfect baby brother, so he steels himself and stays still. When he opens his eyes again, Sam's looking up at him with his lips slightly parted and his brow furrowed. He looks like he's in pain, but he still rocks down a little to try to get Dean in further.

"C'mon," he says again. "More."

Dean pushes forward just a little, but Sam hisses and clenches so he stops. "Breathe," he coos as tenderly as he can, dropping down to his elbows so he can kiss Sam's forehead. "Relax, baby, just let me in, okay?"

Sam nods and like magic, because Dean told him to, all the tension goes out of Sam's body. It's like he melts, and Dean's able to slide in the rest of the way, bottoming out and drawing a moan out of Sam that sends a shiver down Dean's spine.

"Shit," he whispers, reaching up and grabbing Dean's face and kissing him hard.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

"Yes! Move!" Sam cries desperately, like his life depends on it, and Dean's more than happy to listen to him.

He rocks shallowly into Sam's body a few times, gauging his reaction, and when Sam just moans and tosses his head on the pillow, Dean picks up his speed. He gets a good rhythm going, and Sam rolls his hips down as much as he can to meet Dean thrust for thrust. It feels incredible, hot and tight and amazing; Dean can't believe he actually went years without this and still managed to be walking around every day. The way Sam writhes under him is like a drug Dean would happily spend the rest of his life tripping out on. He kisses Sam frantically as they move together; his tongue moving in and out of Sam's mouth like his cock is moving in and out of Sam's body, and Sam whimpers and groans and digs his blunt fingernails into Dean's back so hard there'll be bruises there tomorrow but Dean doesn't care. Nothing has ever been as good as this is, and Dean's pretty sure he could search the entire world and never find anything that could be.

"So fuckin' hot, Sammy," he growls into Sam's ear; Sam's whole body shudders and Dean grins and nips at Sam's earlobe.

"Not gonna last," Sam stutters, mouthing messily at Dean's neck, and Dean hums his agreement.

"Me neither. Feels too good, missed you too much."

Sam starts to answer, but it gets lost on a long moan when Dean shifts his angle and hits Sam's prostate.

"Oh god," Sam breathes. "Do that again."

Dean does, and Sam moans louder, his inner muscles clenching around Dean's cock and making him see stars.

"Gonna come for me?" Dean asks huskily, and Sam nods fervently.

"Yeah. Feels so good, big brother."

Dean's orgasm hits him out of nowhere, like a wrecking ball, at Sam's words. _Fuck_, he loves Sam calling him that when they're like this. It's dirty and wrong and so sexy it has him crying out harshly and exploding into Sam's warm channel. It's amazing – none of the mostly forgettable girls he was with in the last few years ever made him come this hard. His head spins and his vision silvers out around the edges, every nerve ending in his body is lit up like the fourth of July. Dean's so lost in it he doesn't even notice Sam's finished too, until he drops bonelessly down onto Sam's chest and the sticky, creamy fluid gets smeared between their stomachs. Even then, it hardly registers. Every inch of Dean's skin is tingling and his brain is so foggy he hardly remembers his own name for a few minutes while he comes down. It's too many things – fantastic sex and a hundred other, more meaningful things all tangled up together and Dean can't focus on anything, really, so he just floats in the warm haze. Vaguely, he's aware that Sam's cradling the back of his skull in one hand and lightly trailing fingers up and down Dean's spine with the other, but even that feels fuzzy and surreal.

Once he's got his brain working again, Dean pulls out as carefully as he can, cringing at the small wince from Sam as his still hard cock passes over the sensitive rim. He flops down onto the bed beside Sam, breathing heavily and fully expecting them to just lie there and pant for a few more minutes, but Sam immediately rolls onto his side and cuddles up close to Dean's body. He rests his head on Dean's shoulder and he throws an arm across Dean's stomach. Dean grins through his post-orgasm haze, and he worms one of his arms under Sam's neck so he can wrap it around Sam's back. He wasn't really expecting Sam to be clingy like this, but he's more than okay with it. Maybe Sam's feeling vulnerable right now, maybe he just needs to be close to Dean; either way it's definitely something he can do.

"Dean?" Sam asks quietly.

"Shh, sleep," Dean whispers, rubbing up and down Sam's sweat-dappled back. He knows what Sam's going to say, and it can wait until tomorrow.

"We're gonna have to talk about this at some point," Sam points out petulantly, and Dean can't help smiling at the slight whine in his little brother's voice. It's exactly what he's been missing. Finally, he's got Sammy back.

"I know we do," Dean agrees. "Not tonight, though."

Sam huffs a little, but he nuzzles into Dean's neck like the over-grown puppy that he is, and cuddles in a little closer. "Can I just … tell me one thing?"

"Sure."

"This wasn't just sex to you, right? I mean you … want this? Me? Like, for real?"

He sounds so small and unsure and it hurts Dean's heart a little. "'Course I do," he promises.

"Okay," Sam answers, but he still sounds uncertain and Dean sighs.

Sam's getting his way just like Dean should've known he would, but even still there's a part of Dean that doesn't want to admit too many things right away. He doesn't want to pour his heart out all at once just to have Sam leave again; the hole in his chest just stopped hurting so much when the wind blew through it, he really doesn't think he could take it if he lost Sam again. But alright, he can talk about this a little. For Sam, he can.

"I've wanted you like this since, shit, since I was eighteen. It never changed, even after you left. It never went away. I know we've got some stuff to work out, but I swear I want this. I wanna be with you."

"Okay," Sam says again, and this time he sounds like he means it. "Good. Me too."

"Good," Dean repeats, smiling and leaning down a little to kiss Sam's cheek. "Now shut up and let me sleep."

"Not feelin' very energetic tonight, old-timer?" Sam asks cheekily, and Dean swats him.

"Don't knock it, man. This fuckin' unbelievably sexy brunette wore me out. Legs for miles, I'm tellin' ya. It's a damn good reason to need some shut-eye."

Sam snorts into Dean's neck and then kisses it. "And you didn't even buy me dinner first."

"Who said I was talking about you?" Dean jokes, and Sam makes a spluttery, offended sound and pokes Dean hard in the ribs.

"You better be talkin' about me," he says grumpily, and Dean chuckles and holds him a little tighter.

"'Course I'm talking 'bout you, baby boy," Dean murmurs. "Now seriously, shut up. Decent people are trying to sleep."

"Probably, somewhere," Sam answers in a lilting voice that gives up the smile on his face that Dean can hear but not see, but Dean doesn't answer so Sam sighs sleepily and relaxes into his chest. "Alright, fine, you win. Night Dean."

"Night Sammy."


End file.
